


I’ve waited for you for a long time.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the centuries have passed between my leaving and my coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ve waited for you for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic plays around with the whole ALTOR setup, with a Mukuro who remembers his past lives and is actually the reincarnation of Giotto’s Mist Guardian.

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

 

He lifts the book away from his face just high enough to spot the Boss’ shoes trekking across the grass, coming towards him. He drops the book again and shuts his eyes. One breath, and he’s blinded by sunlight and the Boss’ smile.

 

“…Give that back, sir.”

 

“You’re not reading it anyway.”

 

The Boss has plopped down and set his back against the tree trunk and he has half the mind to tell the man, in all seriousness, that the maidservants will throw a hissy fit if he comes back with grass stains all over the place. Not a headache he wants, mind, as one of the Boss’ closest advisors. Sure, the Right Hand was likely going to get stressed out by it the most, but he had his own reasons for not wanting the Boss wandering around, disheveled and dirty.

 

They don’t talk, for a while. They stay in place (him lying flat on his back with his arms pillowed behind his head, the Boss sitting up against the tree with one knee drawn up close to his body) for a long while and they don’t talk. The heat of the sun’s unforgiving, but the wind’s still bitingly cold from last winter, and it carries the faintest scent of olive tree flowers every time it comes around. He watches the skyline, listens to the birds and the collection of small gestures his Boss is making beside him, and wonders, idly, what he’s done to deserve all of this grace. To be so fortunate as to have everything, without the expectation of return.

 

“You’re thinking again.”

 

“Eh…?”

 

“Your forehead’s wrinkling up.”

 

All he can see is the Boss’ face again, haloed in brilliance and graced with that trademark smile. He takes hold of the Boss’ tie and tugs him down, to kiss those lips. A slight spice, mingled with morning coffee and something smooth and clean.

 

“And you’re not thinking at all,” he says, before he moves in to kiss the latter again. A moment later, the wind picks up again, but the Boss’ body is over his own and he has nothing to worry about.

 

***

 

“…Mukuro?”

 

He notices the eyes, first, before everything else – unsurprising, really, because Sawada Tsunayoshi has the largest, most expressive eyes he’s ever seen throughout the years of all the lives he’s ever lived. The rest follow: the nakedness of both of their bodies, their limbs tangled together, the softness of the sheets they’re under and the sunlight pouring through the windows of the room. Tsuna is flat on his belly on top of him, studying him with a gravity that doesn’t quite suit his young features. His hands are reaching out and Mukuro meets them halfway, bringing them to either side of his face.

 

Warm, pliant and perfectly alive. Not made of the memories of too many lives dead and buried beneath the ages. Not cold, not unforgiving – infinitely kind, invading every pore of his being until there was no room for any part of him to protest.

 

Mukuro watches those eyes as he kisses those fingers, and smiles when Tsuna’s cheeks flare up.

 

“Good morning, Boss.”

 

He’s walked, quite literally, through Hell and right back to get to this point and he realizes, not for the first time, that he’d gladly do it again.


End file.
